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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26874550">Fiendfyre</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Whedonista93/pseuds/Whedonista93'>Whedonista93</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Spooky Season 2020 [6]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Game of Thrones (TV), Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Crossover, F/M, game of thrones is its own warning</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-10-07</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-10-07</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 19:42:32</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,369</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26874550</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Whedonista93/pseuds/Whedonista93</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Hermione falls through the Veil, and into a world vastly different from her own.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Hermione Granger/Tormund Giantbane</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Spooky Season 2020 [6]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1958881</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>33</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>191</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Fiendfyre</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Tormund thinks he’s prepared for everything - they’re fighting fucking dead men for the gods’ sakes - but he’s not prepared for her. They’re waiting - ready and braced - for the attack when a woman stumbles into the field out of thin air with a loud crack. She looks toward the humans, then toward the Walkers, then turns and flees toward the humans.</p><p>She skids to a stop at the gates, looks back toward the Walkers, then vanishes. A moment later, she appears next to Tormund with a loud pop.</p><p>“What the fuck?” He startles back.</p><p>The woman grimaces. “Uh, magic. What in the name of Merlin are <em> those</em>?” She points back toward the Walkers.</p><p>“White Walkers. Living, fighting dead.”</p><p>The woman groans. “Bloody hell.” She glances toward the sky. “I couldn’t be thrown into a world that <em> isn’t </em> in the middle of a bloody war?”</p><p>“Who are you?” Tormund asks, ignoring the stares the woman is accumulating.</p><p>“Hermione Granger,” she offers her hand.</p><p>Tormund reaches out and grasps her forearm. “Tormund Giantsbane.”</p><p>Hermione’s lips twitch. “Giantsbane, huh?”</p><p>“Familiar with giants?”</p><p>“Familiar enough.”</p><p>“Well I-”</p><p>“Don’t get him started!” Edd cuts him off. “Where’d you come from girl? No one just appears outta thin air like that.”</p><p>Hermione shrugs. “Considering you’re about to fight zombies, I’m going to go out on a limb and say you believe in magic here?”</p><p>Edd nods slowly. “Aye. I’ve seen too much not to.”</p><p>Hermione smiles. “Brilliant. I’m a witch.”</p><p>Tormund looks her up and down appraisingly. Sturdy boots, made of some sort of reptile skin. A linen top tucked into dark, form-fitting trousers. Bracers at her wrists. A heavy wool cloak hangs over the whole ensemble. Her wild curls are barely held back from her face by a thin leather tie. Despite her small stature, something about her screams <em> danger</em>. Tormund appreciates that in a woman. “Are you a fighter, lass?”</p><p>Hermione grins wryly. “Short answer is yes.” Her gaze drifts back to the Walkers. “What kills these things?”</p><p>“Tormund?” Jon calls. “Who’s our new guest?”</p><p>“A witch,” Tormund grins. “This runt is the boss around here, Jon Snow.”</p><p>Jon sighs. “One witch isn’t enough?”</p><p>“Fuck your bloody red woman. As grateful as I am she brought you back… there’s somethin’ not quite right ‘bout her.”</p><p>Jon quirks an eyebrow. “But you trust this woman who, by all accounts, appeared out of nowhere?”</p><p>Tormund shrugs. “Gut instinct.”</p><p>Hermione rolls her eyes. “If someone would tell me how to kill the damn things, I might be able to prove my worth.”</p><p>Jon eyes her warily. “Valyrian steel, dragonglass, or fire.”</p><p>“Dragonglass?”</p><p>“Some call it obsidian.”</p><p>Hermione nods thoughtfully. “Fire it is, then.”</p><hr/><p>Hermione sat her NEWTS, then accepted an apprenticeship in the Department of Mysteries. Being shoved through the Veil - and may the gods have mercy on whatever poor sod was responsible if she ever manages to get back and find out - was <em> not </em> part of her five year plan. She lands in an open field between an old stone keep and what appears to be an invading army. An army that… <em> Bloody hell, are those zombies?! </em> She turns and flees toward the keep. She Apparates up onto the wall, next to a tall, broad, ginger man in furs, and tries to get a feel for the world she’s landed in, because it’s clearly not her own.</p><p>Zombies is close enough to right that Hermione almost groans. She asks how to kill them. She doesn’t have their steel, or any weapons of obsidian, but she’s more effective at a range anyway. She nods. “Fire it is, then.”</p><p>Tormund scratches at his beard. “I hate to tell you, lass, but we don’t have that much fire.”</p><p>Hermione flashes her teeth at the large ginger. “I do.”</p><p>Tormund eyes her boldly. “And where might you be hidin’ that?”</p><p>Hermione laughs.</p><p>Jon shuffles his feet nervously. “We appreciate whatever assistance you might offer, my lady, but unless you’re hiding a cache of Wildfire…”</p><p>Hermione grins. “I don’t know what Wildfire is, but I was thinking Fiendfyre.”</p><p>“Beg your pardon?”</p><p>“Easier to show than tell, Lord Snow. Do we know what they’re waiting for?”</p><p>Tormund shrugs. “Hoping we’ll stick our thumbs up our arses?”</p><p>Hermione sighs. “Yeah, I’m not waiting that long. The longer it takes to deal with this, the longer it takes to figure out how I got here in the first place. If you’ll excuse me for a moment.”</p><p>She Apparates back outside the gates, into the field in front of their defenses and the troops outside the keep. She eyes the… what had Tormund called them? White Walkers. She eyes them warily, then closes her eyes and lets every emotion she’s been bottling for nearly a decade simmer to the surface. She thinks of fear, running from Voldemort and his Deatheaters. She lets herself acknowledge the anger toward the pettiness Ron has exhibited so many times over the years. She thinks of loss -  of Fred Weasley laying on the ground of the Great Hall, of being unable to reverse the memory charm she’d used to protect her parents. She remembers the pain inflicted by Bellatrix. She doesn’t bother with her wand, simply raises her hands, and lets Fiendfyre flow from her fingertips, charring the ground in front of the White Walkers before enveloping the first line of them and carrying on through their ranks. She breathes out and lowers her hands, then Apparates back onto the wall next to Tormund.</p><p>“Bloody hells, woman! How…”</p><p>“It’s a curse, Hermione explains. “It’s called Fiendfyre, and it will not stop burning until I put it out.”</p><p>Tormund whoops and scoops Hermione off her feet, holding her tightly to his body and spinning her in a circle. He’s still beaming when he sets her on her feet.</p><p>Hermione laughs - his enthusiasm is infectious. “I could get used to being stuck here, I think.”</p><p>“You are, my dear,” a feminine voice offers.</p><p>Hermione leans to the side and sees a slim redhead just past Jon. “Excuse me?”</p><p>“I’ve seen glimpses of your world in the fire. You are blessed by the Lord of Light, foe he knew our world needed a protector… one whose heart shines as brightly as her mind.”</p><p>“There is no return to my world?”</p><p>“You would be but a restless spirit if you did.”</p><p>Hermione grimaces. “Bugger that.”</p><p>Jon stares out over the flaming Walkers, and the Fiendfyre that chases those who flee. “Is that it, then?”</p><p>Edd scoffs. “We were expecting a bit more of a battle, weren’t we?”</p><p>“I will not let the fire cease until the entirety of them is nothing but ash,” Hermione reassures.</p><p>Jon chuckles ruefully. “I suppose we’d best go and fetch the others from the crypts, then.”</p><hr/><p>Tormund can’t take his eyes off the little sorceress that saved them. She doesn’t so much as startle when the Targaryen girl lands her dragon not ten feet away. The woman bloody smiles and tells the dragon he’s much friendlier than others she’s known, though she frowns distrustingly at the beast’s rider. Tormund can’t help the fondness that blooms toward Hermione when he sees that expression.</p><p>Jon calls everyone to the main hall before Tormund can examine the feeling too closely. The little crow leads his pretty sister over as soon as Tormund leads Hermione into the hall.</p><p>“Lady Hermione, may I present my sister, Lady Sansa Stark.”</p><p>Sansa smiles warmly and holds both hands out. “We are your debt, my lady. I feared the end of this night, and you have saved us all. It is an honor to meet you.”</p><p>Hermione grips the other woman’s hands. “A pleasure, my lady.”</p><p>Daenerys calls Jon away and Sansa frowns.</p><p>“Is she as mad as I fear?” Hermione asks quietly.</p><p>Sansa’s hands tighten visibly in Hermione’s grip. “I fear so, but those who stand against her face her dragon’s fire.”</p><p>Hermione eyes glint fiercely. “I do not fear dragon fire.”</p><p>“Somehow, that does not surprise me, my lady.” Sansa’s gaze turns calculating. “She will ask you aid her in her bid for the throne.”</p><p>“Tell me what you know of her,” Hermione requests.</p><p>Sansa glances toward the head of the room and frowns. “I fear we do not have the time.”</p><p>Hermione bites her lip. “Will you trust me, for just a moment?”</p><p>Sansa nods slowly.</p><p>“Some of my people, witches and wizards, have the ability to see into the mind of others. We call it Legilimency. Would you allow me?”</p><p>Sansa flinches. “There are dark things in my mind, my lady.”</p><p>“I assure you I have seen worse.”</p><p>Sansa glances up again, then nods hesitantly. “Very well.”</p><p>“I’ll only look at what I have to,” Hermione promises. “Focus your thoughts on what you know of her.”</p><p>Tormund only partially understands the exchange between the women, but he subtly puts himself between them and the rest of the room.</p><hr/><p>Hermione learned quickly that people often think first of the things that they do not want people to know when they learn someone is going to enter their mind. Her heart breaks at the glimpses she sees of Sansa’s Stark’s life before the other woman manages to focus her thoughts on Daenerys.</p><p>Hermione takes a sharp breath when she comes back to herself. She squeezes Hermione’s hands. “I am so sorry, my friend.”</p><p>Sansa flinches.</p><p>“Your secrets are safe with me.”</p><p>“Thank you,” Sansa exhales shakily.</p><p>Hermione tunes back into the proceedings in time to catch Daenerys’ excessive praise of Hermione’s deeds. She meets Daenerys’ eyes, and then Jon’s eyes, just briefly, gleaning only what she needs.</p><p>“You have saved us all,” Daenerys proclaims. “I could use someone like you as an advisor.”</p><p>Hermione scoffs. “You do not want me as advisor, my lady, you want me as a weapon.”</p><p>Daenerys’ face turns stony. “Savior or not, you are a guest in these halls, and you would do well to treat those around you with the proper respect. My address is <em> your grace </em>.”</p><p>Hermione’s lips twist up wryly. “You have an estate, but you lack a throne, therefore <em> my lady </em> is entirely appropriate.”</p><p>“You do not support my claim?”</p><p>Hermione squares her shoulders and lifts her chin. “I do not.”</p><p>Daenerys shoots to her feet. “You dare-”</p><p>“I dare!” Hermione shouts back, magic sparking around her. “I have spent my entire life fighting against the reign of tyrants, and the madness in your heart, Daenerys Targaryen, will be the ruin of you. A woman who burns those who refuse to kneel does not a benevolent queen make, my lady. The only chains your break are the ties that bind your sanity to your person.”</p><p>Jon steps forward, hands held out on placation. “My lady-”</p><p>Hermione tilts her gaze toward him. “I would support your claim.”</p><p>Jon’s jaw drops. “I… I… I have no claim. I am but a bastard.”</p><p>Hermione snorts. “You are the last living male of the Targaryen line. The legitimate son Rhaegar Targaryen and his second wife, Lyanna Stark. The Iron Throne is yours by right.”</p><p>Murmurs fill the hall.</p><p>Jon hangs his head. “I do not want it.”</p><p>Hermione softens her tone. “Those who seek power are rarely fit for it.”</p><p>“De said he has no interest-” Daenerys grits.</p><p>Hermione waves her hand toward Daenerys, wearily casting a silencing charm.</p><p>The woman continues to rant, taking several moments to realize she has no voice.</p><p>“Go back to Dragonstone, Lady Targaryen. Or even back to Mereen. Quite frankly, I don’t care. But you shall not sit on the Iron Throne.”</p><hr/><p>Tormund is half in love with Hermione by the time she sends the Targaryen girl, and her unsettling, packing back toward Dragonstone. Several hours after sunset, swapping stories around the blazing fire in the great hall of Winterfell, he falls absolutely ass over kettle.</p><p>Hermione has stripped away her cloak and bracers and kicked off her boots. She’s got her back to the hearth, and is sitting with her legs crossed, a mug of ale in hand. She laughs at something Edd says, then rolls her sleeves up, revealing a line of scars on her left arms - runes he doubts he would recognize even if he could read.</p><p>She points to the runes. “These were carved into my arm by a cursed blade by a witch so devoted to a madman she thought invincible, she forgot her own weakness until it was too late. These wounds still bleed sometimes, but I’m alive, and she’s not.”</p><p>Tormund shared many of his own stories early on - everything from giants to bears to simply extolling his daughters’ praises. Then he’d been too busy watching Hermione to pay much attention to anyone else’s. He tunes back in when Hermione starts talking, then notices he’s not the only one watching her so closely. Another Free Folk, a fucking Thenn he can’t be assed to remember the name of, is watching the girl with keen interest. The Thenn stands, slowly. Tormund’s logic flees and he’s on his feet before he processes what he’s doing. He’s closer to the little witch, and he has her flung over his shoulder and is out the door before the Thenn can even start bellowing after him in protest. Unlike the Thenn, Tormund is familiar with the halls of Winterfell - Jon had insisted - and he deposits Hermione on the floor in front of the cackling hearth in his own room - another thing Jon has insisted on.</p><p>Hermione crosses her arms and glares at him. “Would you care to explain yourself?”</p><p>Tormund sneers. “Fucking Thenn was was gonna steal you.” He grins smugly. “I beat him to it.”</p><p>One of Hermione’s eyebrows disappears into her hairline. “Steal me?”</p><p>Something about her gaze actually makes him feel a bit embarrassed about the practice. “It’s a Free Folk tradition. Stealing a wife.”</p><p>Hermione’s other eyebrow joins the first under her hair. “Wife?”</p><p>Tormund shrugs. “Aye.”</p><p>“And if the woman is unwilling?”</p><p>“Then she leaves. Free Folk women are strong. Fierce.”</p><p>Hermione’s thunderous expression calms and she observes Tormund critically. “And if she’s willing?”</p><p>Tormund smiles.</p><p>Hermione smiles back and steps into his space resting her hands on his chest. “I always have been partial to redheads.”</p>
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